Carapace Confessions
by Brooke Thomas
Summary: One shot fluff/filler idea set roughly around 'The Demon's Grasp'. Each turtle's shell tells a story of it's own. 2K3 verse. Leonardo/OC/Raphael/Michelangelo, No rights claimed to TMNT.


**A/N: So this came to me as a fluff/filler idea for 'The Demon's Grasp' but as yet I can't seem to find a place for it and I'm not sure I will! However it seems a waste not to post it so think of it as happening around that time frame and enjoy :)**

Leonardo emerged from the shower refreshed and finally clean, the dusty grime of the city seemed to seep through his skin and cling to his shell in the hot summer months but it was nothing soap and hot water couldn't fix. He rubbed his face with the nearest towel and groped around for his mask which still hung over the shower screen door and tied it on with a few deft movements of his fingers. He spied his wife brushing her teeth and took up his position next to her to do the same. Quayla grinned at him in the mirror around her foamy toothbrush and he chuckled at the sight of the bubbles escaping.

The bathroom offered a small piece of sanctuary before they were again plunged into the usual morning chaos that came with sharing a living space and having a small child. He sidled closer to her and elbowed her playfully, she returned the gesture with a snicker then bent over to rinse out her mouth. She leant against the sink and watched him as he did the same, when he stood to face her she tutted.

"Turn around," she instructed twirling a finger.

He obliged and asked, "What are you doing?" Then felt the sensation of his shell being rubbed reverberating through his chest, "Oh."

"I'm oiling your shell, you scrubbed it too much," She replied pausing to carefully work the substance into the chipped plate near his shoulder where the stress of the old trauma still showed in the deep grains exposed there. She pondered if it would ever grow out or if it would always be a part of him now, when they had first met the urge to trace over the rich patterns had been overwhelming. For all her bravado she hadn't dared to ask the solemn turtle to do so until they had met again in New York. Now she smiled as the oil did it's work, the dry shell's beautiful markings were once again nourished and stood proud and vibrant. Her fingers tingled from repeatedly rubbing over the hundreds of small raised ridges on the scutes. "Okay, I'm done."

"Thanks," he said as he turned back to face her, his eyes had taken on an almost liquid quality as they bored into her dark ones. Her fingertips found the ridge around his plastron and she tugged him closer. He touched a hand to her cheek then let his index finger trace down along her jaw line with a slow exhale. He was a little disappointed he had showered alone now but the bathroom wasn't that private.

"You two done in there?" An annoyed voice barked through the door, startling them, "Cuz I'm giving you five seconds before I come in."

Raph. Leonardo thought, dropping his hand, of course. "Door's open Raph," he called.

Raphael entered with a huff and noted with relief his brother and Quayla were fully attired save for Leonardo's belt which was folded neatly by the side of the sink that Quayla was now washing her hands in. Leonardo leant over and kissed her lightly on the cheek before taking leave of the bathroom.

"Hey," she called after him, "that's not dry, don't sit on the couch yet!"

"I won't," he replied with a chuckle.

Raphael watched his brother leave and cocked a brow, "You did his shell?"

"Mm-hmm," Quayla answered as she concentrated on drying her hands, she looked up and bit her lip for a moment while deciding if to add further comment. Decision made she picked up the bottle and offered it towards him tentatively, "I can put some on yours too if you like?"

"Uhh," he drawled and rubbed his head awkwardly, looking away he answered, "Okay, if ya want to," with that he moved closer, removed his belt and turned his shell towards her.

Wasting no time Quayla set to work, tipping more of the viscous fluid into her palm and working it into the plating. She was surprised Raphael had taken her up on the offer but pleased that he had let his guard down for once. His shell told a different story to Leonardo's, the red masked turtle's spoke of hardship not trauma. The scutes were scuffed, scratched and covered in a myriad of abuse. Each mark was earned and worn as a testament to protecting that which he held dear by being left rough and uncared for.

"Master Splinter used to do this for us."

Raphael's voice startled her out of her reverie, she continued to rub the oils into the dried edges of the scratches as she spoke, "He did?"

"Yeah," he breathed, turning his belt over in his hands, "As we got older I guess he figured we'd help each other but we forget I s'pose. It's been a while."

"I can see that, your shell is pretty beat up in places Raph. It's looking better now though," she said administering a final coating to the worst affected areas and admiring the way the deep browns and caramel's of his shell leapt back into life, "I'm finished."

The turtle turned his back on the mirror behind the sink and peered over his shoulder with a surprised stare, "Looks good."

Quayla suppressed a smile and reached for the hot water tap on the adjacent sink but her hand stopped short of turning it. She rested her back against the counter and carefully kept her hands away from her clothes. "So.." she paused, "I suppose Don and Mikey haven't bothered either?"

Raphael shook his head and began walking back towards the living quarters. "I'll go get 'em," he replied with a jerk of his thumb.

Moments later Michelangelo's head appeared around the open door with an enormous grin plastered across his face. "You called m'lady?"

"Yep, seems I'm the one stop shell stop," she quipped and placed her hand on her hip, "Aw, shoot," she groaned, noticing the greasy handprint on her pants and with a huff wiped the rest of her hand clean on the spoilt clothing. "Come here Mikey, turn around."

The smiling turtle did as instructed and fell silent as Quayla began to massage the abraded spots on his shell. Michelangelo's shoulders rocked with the motion. He let out a contented sigh. The years with Leonardo had taught the young woman that while the turtles felt little that touched their protective plating the vibrations from tapping or rubbing were quite soothing. She observed that the youngest's shell was patterned with different scrapes to Leonardo's or Raphael's, they formed a swirling mass of grooves concentrated on the outermost curve of his scutes.

"Um, dare I even ask what you've been doing to your poor shell?" She proffered with a laugh.

"Just working on my dance moves Cute," he replied and wriggled his hips. He added a cheeky wink over his shoulder.

Quayla pushed him playfully on the shoulder, "Behave, I'm almost done."

He turned his head back and let a long whistling breath escape his lips. "Cute?" He asked quietly.

"Yeah?" She replied and stopped her work, noticing the change in his tone and left her hands hovering over his shell. He sounded suddenly serious, no longer the joking lighthearted little brother.

"Do you think I'll ever meet someone?"

She was momentarily taken aback, Michelangelo had never mentioned wanting a relationship before. The sound of dripping water echoed around the room, "Would you like to?" Quayla finally asked.

He shrugged which was a vain attempt to conceal his earlier sincerity. "Yeah, I guess. I mean, I never really thought about it before you and Leo," he spun around to face her, "then I figure it's totally possible, it could happen to me one day right? But it hasn't," he wrung his hands, his eyes shone, "It just hasn't."

"Mikey," Quayla began softly, "I had no idea," she touched his arm lightly. He moved from under her hand which had left a shining print on his skin.

"No one was meant to, I just, couldn't hold it in any longer. I-" he stuttered, "I'm lonely. I joke around, play up being the clown but it sucks. I'm not like Raph and Don, I'm no good at being alone." He plonked down on the floor cross-legged and utterly miserable.

Quayla knelt beside him, "Mike, I don't know if that person is out there. No one does, but for what it's worth I hope they are," she wrapped an arm around him protectively, "and that they're totally hot."

This prompted a wan smile from the turtle, "Well, they'd have to be to handle all this," he gestured along his plastron with a sweep of his hand.

She gave him a squeeze, "You're not alone y'know. We all need a little time to ourselves sometimes but I can see it in the marks on your shell, your family would do anything for you, me included."

"Thanks," he croaked and cleared his throat, "I'm gonna go see what's keeping Donnie," he nimbly leapt to his feet and strode purposely from the bathroom leaving Quayla kneeling on the floor. She swallowed hard and stood slowly then made her way towards the door only to come face to face with Leonardo. She scowled, fully aware of what he'd been doing.

"You shouldn't have been listening," she said pushing past him.

"Hey," he said gently, clasping her arm and pulling her back, "I was worried about him."

"You ought to be. Leo, we never stopped to think did we?"

He drew a quick breath, "About what?"

"About them," she pointed towards the living area, "What it would do to them, us being together, Jade. It's been destroying Michelangelo," she hung her head and avoided his gaze.

"I've thought about it ever since we first met," Leonardo replied and ducked his head to catch his wife's eye again, "It's part of the reason I held back for so long. I knew the consequences would be like this, I'm just surprised its taken all these years for anyone to admit it."

Quayla nodded slowly, "I didn't think about it," she added in a guilty whisper. Her eyes suddenly widened, "Does Mikey find someone?"

He shook his head and his mouth formed a tight line. The tension was apparent in the set of his jaw. His experience of the future was falling further away from relevance as each day passed and its new events unfolded. None of his brothers had ventured into a meaningful relationship in the warped and twisted future he had lived in. Raphael, he was sure, had had a brief encounter with a woman but he had never disclosed details or seemed to see her with any frequency. But he wondered, now tragedy had never struck and his heart hadn't been crushed before them would his brothers actually try to connect? He hoped so.

"Although I'm not sure I can answer that anymore," he replied, "everything is different and as Master Splinter always says, change is constant."

"He says that?"

Leonardo's mouth quirked slightly, "He might, one day."

A quiet knock on the open steel door preceded Donatello's entrance, always polite. "Not interrupting anything am I?" He asked.

An unreadable glance passed between the couple and Quayla beckoned him forward, "No Don, you're good."

The last turtle stood before her with his shell ready to weave the tale of the bearer's life. Leonardo paused as if to stay but on seeing Quayla's raised eyebrows decided quickly against it.

"I'll just be in the dojo then," he muttered.

The sound of his wife's voice carried out into the next room as he entered it.

"Donatello, is that a scorch mark?!" Then a mumbled reply from his brother that he couldn't catch, followed by, "Sodium-hydro-what-now?"

He suppressed a grin as he walked into the living area and sat on the couch next to his brothers, training could wait.


End file.
